The Sixth Time's the Charm
by Toodleoo
Summary: Having fallen in love with Rosmerta Meriwether when he was just eleven years old, Sirius Black tries time and time again to catch her interest. He fails spectacularly… most of the time.


**The Sixth Time's the Charm**

* * *

 _1971_

He was eleven when he spotted her.

The most divine creature ever to walk the earth.

She was all rosy cheeks and smiles and laughter, with warm golden hair and school jumpers that hugged her body just a little too tight. She was surrounded by friends at the next table over from his in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, and from the moment he first saw her, Sirius Black knew he'd never seen anyone like her before.

All he had known of womanhood up until that point was the cold, austere beauty of the Black family women. His own mother was immaculately put together at all times, so pristine that he knew he would get in trouble if he ever mussed her hair or wrinkled her robes. His cousins and aunts weren't much better, and even Andy, easily the jolliest of them all, toed the line and dressed up for family gatherings.

Perfectly untouchable? Not this girl.

Simply _perfect._

After asking around discreetly, he learned that her name was Rosmerta Meriwether, a seventh year Hufflepuff whose uncle ran a pub in Hogsmeade.

Hogwarts was an eye-opening experience for the boy. Oh, he'd known a little bit about what to expect. His parents had prepped him on which subjects he was to study and which house was the best one. His cousins told him about the giant squid and the resident giant, too, but nobody prepared him for the wonder of girls.

There were dozens of them in the castle, all around him all the time. He had classes with them, saw them in his common room, and ate meals with them. Some ignored him, like Lily and Marlene, and others talked to him out of politeness, like Emmeline, who was a prefect for Gryffindor and talked to everybody. But only one made his stomach tingle when he saw her in the corridors of the school.

This led to the question: what was he to do about her?

Having been raised in a family where it was all too easy to make social faux pas, Sirius had learned long ago that the best course of action was to watch others in order to figure out what to do. When he didn't copy his mother's behaviour at dinner, he would get in trouble for using the wrong fork. If he didn't stand and sit when his father stood and sat, his broom would be taken away as a punishment for being impudent.

And so, Sirius was faced with a conundrum. His new friends James and Remus thought that girls were a waste of time, so they weren't terribly helpful to him in this regard. Peter couldn't even speak in the presence of the fairer sex, so he was less than useless.

Thankfully, it didn't take long to find a solution.

It came in the form of a pair of older red-headed twins in his house—popular and clever, the Prewett brothers had girls following them around like Mrs. Norris after Filch. They were confident—a little cocky, smooth with their words, and always ready with a quick line to catch a girl's attention.

One night in the Gryffindor common room, Sirius watched as Gideon made his move on Emmeline. He took mental notes of everything the redhead did.

First he made physical contact, sitting down next to her and slipping his arm over her shoulders. 'Do you have a map?' the young man asked.

Blushing, she rolled her eyes at him. 'That's a daft question, Prewett, even for you.'

He raised his eyebrows, and Sirius held his breath.

'Fine,' she said, swatting Gideon playfully across his chest. 'I'll bite. No, I do not have a map. Why do you ask?'

He smiled. 'A bloke could get lost in your eyes, Vance.'

She groaned at the terrible pun, but Sirius noted that she also snuggled closer into Prewett's side.

A few days later, when he saw Rosmerta alone in the library, Sirius decided to give it a try. After all, he was a Black, and his father told him that Blacks deserved the best in everything. He ambled up to her table, throwing his shoulders back like Gideon did, and he dropped his books beside her before reaching out to touch her—a sort of a poke in the arm, since he didn't feel like he could put an arm around her from where he was standing.

She looked up, startled.

'Do you have a map?' Sirius asked, his voice a little too loud for the library.

Rosmerta smiled at him, which Sirius took to be a very promising sign, indeed. Perhaps she was already dazzled by his good looks, or maybe she had asked around the first years in her house to find out who the dashing new Gryffindor was.

'What was that?' she asked. Clearly, she hadn't even heard him properly.

Well, that wasn't supposed to happen. She was supposed to hear him and be a little smitten by his smile. Undeterred, he repeated the question. 'Er… Do you… do you have a map?'

She put her quill down, eying him like he was a puppy in the rain. Oh, gods, she pitied him. 'The staircases are confusing, I know. Are you lost, little boy?'

Sirius rankled. _Little boy? Little boy?_ She didn't even know his name, and he was a _Black._

This was _not_ how this was supposed to go.

Rosmerta was supposed to ask about the map, and then he was supposed to drop his line about getting lost in her eyes, and they were supposed to hold hands and maybe he'd be granted a smooch or two if she was feeling lenient.

But _no._

She felt sorry for him and she though him a child. The whole affair was an abject failure, the likes of which he'd never known before.

He tried to shrug it off, but thoughts of pretty blonde girls and maps rolled around in his head for months. He'd love a map that let him follow her around Hogwarts. Maybe he could make a map to find every girl in the whole school, and then Rosmerta Meriwether would be sorry for thinking he was just a little boy.

Little boy? _Pfft._

At the end of that year, Sirius watched as the most perfect woman in the world walked out of his life forever.

* * *

 _1973_

Or so he thought.

At thirteen, his signed permission slip in hand, he found Rosmerta again—this time in her uncle's place in Hogsmeade, wearing a partially unbuttoned white blouse and a belt that cinched in her waist so tight he didn't know how she was breathing.

His jaw dropped when he saw her, but then again, so did James's and Remus's and Peter's.

 _Bloody hell_ , but she was gorgeous.

While his friends climbed into a booth in the corner of the Three Broomsticks, Sirius decided then and there that he was going to redeem himself. After all, he wasn't the eleven-year-old boy in the library anymore. He was also six inches taller than he'd been when he saw her last, and he'd even kissed Fern Deacon on the cheek once after a Quidditch match, so he was a man of the world now.

Sirius sauntered over to the counter, pulled out his leather pouch, and dropped an exorbitant amount of gold down on the counter. 'Four Firewhiskys, if you please,' he said, lowering his mostly changed voice as far into baritone register as it would go and praying it wouldn't squeak.

It didn't.

He wouldn't be surprised if she fainted dead away at the manly sound of his voice.

'Four _Butterbeers_?' she asked, a gentle twinkle in her eye. She pulled out a single Galleon to cover the cost and slid the rest of the coins back at him.

He frowned. 'I asked for something harder, Miss Rosmerta.'

She reached across the counter and ruffled his hair. 'Don't you think you're a little young?'

He was a little peeved, but on the other hand, she was touching him, and he couldn't complain about that.

'I remember you from Hogwarts, you know,' she said, pulling four clean glasses down off the shelves.

'You do?' he asked, eyes wide in surprise. He _had_ made an impression, after all. Perhaps she'd harbored a sweet spot for him since then.

'Of course I do!' she proclaimed. By now, all four glasses were filled with Butterbeer, foam spilling over the rims like her bosoms over the confines of her vest. 'You're a Brown, right? The one who kept getting lost in the corridors?'

Grasping the glasses, he sighed. Gods, there was nothing he could do right with this woman, even now that he becoming a man and had two hairs on his chest. She still thought of him as a child, and she didn't even have the decency to know his name. He puffed up his chest and spoke with the kind of haughtiness his mum had perfected. 'It's _Black_ , actually. Of _the_ Blacks.'

She giggled. 'I _know_ that, Sirius. Don't get your wand in a knot.' She nodded at the other Marauders across the room. 'Enjoy the drinks, and tell James that I won't be serving him any Firewhisky, either. Not until you're a few years older.'

A grin as wide as the Fat Lady's arse spread across his face. She _did_ know his name! And she was willing to reconsider him when he was a few years older? He could wait. 'Will do. Thanks, Rosie.'

* * *

 _1975_

In the years following that fateful day at the Three Broomsticks, Sirius tried put her from his mind.

Oh, he still dropped in on Rosie during each Hogsmeade visit during his third, fourth, and fifth years, but he hadn't tried anything with her since that first time. He just smiled, placed his drink order, and made chatty small talk about the weather, much as he'd seen his father do with family friends at dinner.

He didn't want to seem desperate, after all.

Instead, he had taken the time to enjoy the women at Hogwarts. For _women_ they were now, all curvy and blossoming and whatnot. He snogged Marlene properly in a broom cupboard on the fourth floor, and Abigail Cruttenden let him touch her breasts when they were going together. It was over the jumper and only the sides, but it was enough to fuel many a daydream long after they'd broken up.

If Abigail's baps were that soft and pettable, Sirius thought, Rosie's must be glorious.

However, Sirius was two years older now, so it might be time to try again.

If you listened to Evans, who was the only girl he hung around with like a friend, he was a pig of the lowest order. She was friendly enough with him, but she didn't really like him that much. Mostly, he spent time with her because she and Remus were swotty prefect pals and also because James was a bit in love with her. Still, he didn't like her accusation that he drooled over women just because of their looks.

He didn't want Rosie just for her body, perfect though it was. There was something so open and encouraging about her that he'd been drawn to for as long as he could remember.

And hadn't she said that she'd consider him once he was a bit older?

To prepare for his next visit to the Three Broomsticks, he watched Kingsley Shacklebolt in action. The man was smooth for days, and he wore the widest bellbottoms of any bloke in the school when it was after hours.

Sirius watched him win over Marlene a smile and a sentence. A single sentence! Armed with this new knowledge, he decided that next Hogsmeade trip would be the right time.

He left the Marauders at the Zonko's, telling them he'd meet up with them later.

Then he slicked his hair back in the window's reflection, gave himself a wink, and traipsed into the Three Broomsticks.

There she was.

Gorgeous as ever.

He walked up to the counter and rapped the wood with knuckles in order to get her attention.

She looked up.

'Once you go Black, you never go back,' he said, placing a Galleon down for whatever drink she was willing to serve him. 'Wanna go out sometime, Rosie?'

She burst out laughing. 'I don't know where you picked up that chat line,' she said, turning her back on his to retrieve a sandwich for another customer, 'but I am entirely certain that doesn't mean what you _think_ it means.'

Before she had a chance to pour him a Butterbeer, the beverage of children, he bolted back to the castle. When the lads came back to the common room, Remus fished out a shiny gold coin and handed it to him.

'Miss Rosmerta says that you're still too young.'

Sirius glanced up at his friend.

'What did you do?' Remus asked, his voice low. 'Try to order a Firewhisky again? You know she won't serve you.'

Sirius tossed the coin in the air, catching in his opposite hand. 'Yeah,' he mumbled. 'Something like that.'

* * *

 _1976_

During his sixth year, Sirius let go of his aspirations. Maybe she was right and he was too young. Maybe he wasn't her type. Maybe he should just give it up and go for girls his own age. He was, after all, easily the best looking bloke at Hogwarts now, and between the motorcycle jacket and the hair he was growing out, girls were throwing themselves in his path at every turn.

Marianne Tipplewell was his September during that year. She was all grabby hands and eager fingers, but Sirius wasn't complaining. After her came Claire Pidgeon, a Ravenclaw who tasted delicious and lasted somewhere into mid-November. Somewhere around the holidays, he tried snogging Hamish Doyne-Ditma, and then he went back to playing the field.

It was much easier to reenter the Three Broomsticks now that he wasn't angling for anything with Rosie and didn't have anything to prove to her. Instead of pining after her hopelessly, he enjoyed himself, teasing her with chat-up lines that grew stupider with each passing visit.

'I've been thinking about rearranging the alphabet,' he said once, pulling out all his swagger as he flirted. 'U and I belong together, Rosie.'

She just laughed, a melodious tinkling sound. It was a lovely thing, her laughter—she wasn't laughing at him, but knew it was a game with no real end in sight. She poked back at him, saying, 'I like the alphabet very much how it is, Mister Black. Why change a good thing?'

'Are you so sure about that?' he asked.

She grinned. 'It's already perfect, you see. N and O are already right next to one another.'

And he smiled, picking up four glasses of Butterbeer to bring to his mates at their booth in the corner.

'You're quite the _dog_ , you know that, Sirius?' she said, a twinkle of knowledge in her eye.

He gulped, clutching the glasses to his chest. _She didn't know, did she?_

'Your secret's safe with me,' she whispered. She glanced around the room to make sure nobody was looking. 'Listen, I was out for a moonlit stroll last week, and I heard something from the Shrieking Shack. I went to the window, and…' Her voice trailed off as her eyes settled on his friends at their table. 'Take care of Remus, yeah?'

Sirius nodded slowly.

'That's some powerful magic there, Mister Black. That's right good of you and James to take care of him like you do.' Then she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

He was stunned into actual silence before turning around and rejoining his friends. So she thought he was powerful, did she? His cheek was still warm as he walked away.

All things considered, life was pretty good.

* * *

Until it wasn't.

The first day she passed him a real Firewhisky was the summer before seventh year.

He'd needed it. He'd forgotten how terrible summers were, what with his family's posh dinners and endless reprimands. They'd been disappointed in him ever since his first year at Hogwarts, but it had only grown worse over time. Sirius fought his father at every turn, voicing his disdain for Pureblooded ideals whenever they came up. If suppertime wasn't filled with stony silence, it ended with screaming matches between Father Black and the eldest son.

One day, things finally exploded.

With his muscles still twitching from his father's Cruciatus Curse and his ears ringing with his mother's cries of condemnation, Sirius Apparated to a warm place, far away from London. As far away from London as he could get, since he was now banished from his family home and his name singed off the family tapestry.

Somehow, his deliberation and determination had led him to the storeroom of Rosie's pub. He landed in a heap, knocking over a slew of empty glass bottles. His body ached in places he didn't even know he had, and he lacked the strength to haul himself to stand.

Thankfully, she bolted back there from the front of house. 'Sirius Black! What the hell are you doing here?' Seeing his struggles, she reached down to grasp his hands in hers, trying to pull him to stand.

His nerves were frayed and his teeth chattered wildly, out of his control. She looked into his eyes, searching for clues. 'Did you hurt yourself when you fell, or is something else wrong?'

Well.

There was pity in those eyes.

Pity and… and _fear._

She was afraid for him, and he couldn't have that. Gathering what strength he had left, he smiled weakly, willing the words to come to his lips. 'Did you hurt yourself when you fell from heaven, angel?'

Rosie groaned. 'That was a terrible line, even for you.' Slipping his arm over her shoulders, she Apparated him to a comfortable room and laid him down gingerly on the soft bed. He assumed he was in one of the guestrooms above the pub 'Still, I'll let that one slide, given the circumstances.' She pulled out her wand, muttering a series of spells that cleaned the dried blood from his lip and reduced the puffiness around his bruised eye.

Eyes closed, he felt her slide the leather boots from his feet before unfolding a blanket over his body. Her hands were so gentle, giving a kind of touch he hadn't felt in years.

'I suppose it's better than your wretched line about going Black,' she said. 'Did you ever figure out why that one failed you?'

Sirius winced at the sound of his surname. _Little did she know._ 'I'm not a... not a Black anymore.'

A moment passed while she put two and two together. Gasping, she asked, 'Sirius, did your father do this?'

He opened his eyes and spoke forcefully, willing himself not to cry. 'Not my father anymore.'

Rosie merely nodded, running her fingers through his matted hair. 'Are you hungry?'

He shook his head.

'Thirsty, then?' she asked, her voice quiet. 'You look like you could use a Firewhisky.'

He nodded.

Then she leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead before crossing to the door. 'Give me a moment.'

A few minutes later, James walked in with a bottle and two glasses. 'Miss Rosmerta said…' His voice caught in his throat as he stared down at his best friend. 'Fuck, Sirius. You look like utter shite.'

 _She must have Floo'ed him._

James pulled up a chair and poured two glasses of alcohol. He passed one over. 'Cheers, mate.'

Sirius downed it in one.

'Budge over,' James said, toeing off his trainers and climbing onto the bed beside him, bottle in hand. 'We're going to drink until we pass out, and then you're coming home with me tomorrow. You know mum likes you better than me, anyhow.'

Sirius fell fast asleep.

* * *

 _1980_

After leaving Hogwarts, Sirius set himself up in a flat with money from his Uncle Alphard. He did the odd job for Dumbledore here and there, and he knew that he should hypothetically figure out a career path, since it was unlikely that he'd ever see a Knut of the Black family fortune. He had the N.E.W.T.s to do something or other, but he figured that he had enough cash to go at least four years before procuring a real profession.

In the meanwhile, he dated a few different birds, enjoyed his mates, and spent his weekends helping James set up the nursery for the sprog that was coming soon. While there was a part of him that found it a little mad that James was already married at twenty and completely insane that Lily was already pregnant, Sirius was chuffed beyond belief. He was to be the godfather, after all, and this meant, more than anything else, that he finally had a real family.

Half a case of the finest Champagne was sitting in Sirius's kitchen, just waiting to be opened on the big day.

The first bottle was snuck into hospital under his leather jacket. He joined Remus and Peter in the waiting room, pacing like a mad man whilst the Healers kept their friends in the delivery room. When James emerged with a tiny bundle, Sirius poured a round for all the Marauders to toast Harry and Lily's good health.

And second bottle was sent home with Peter, who had been feeling poorly and needed to leave straight from St Mungo's, and a third was opened in the wee hours of the night somewhere in Devon at Remus's tiny cottage. Just past midnight, the werewolf passed out from inebriated exhaustion and overwhelming happiness, so Sirius headed back to his flat.

The fourth and fifth bottles he sent by owl to Godric's Hollow. Lily could decide what to do with them. Perhaps she'd save one for Harry's christening or even for his first birthday? Sirius was already envisioning the party for the kid, since he was planning on spoiling him rotten. He didn't actually know what to do with babies, but he knew he loved this one.

It was three o'clock in the morning, but he wasn't through celebrating, and he needed to find someone who was awake. The final bottle was tucked under Sirius's arm as he Floo'd off to Scotland.

'Rosie!' he cried, rapping his fists on the back door of the Three Broomsticks. 'Rosie! Come on, Rosie, open up!'

He heard a scuffle inside, and out came a beautiful and slightly peeved Rosmerta Meriwether, her hands on her hips as she faced him down. 'What on earth are you banging on about, Sirius?'

He put on his best Marlon Brando action and thrust out the bottle of Champagne. 'I'm gonna make you an offer you can't refuse, Rosie.'

'What?' she asked, clearly confused.

'You haven't seen the film?' he asked, his arms dropping by his side as he strode past her into the pub.

Rosmerta laughed, pushing a golden curl behind her ear. 'Ah, The Godfather. Yes, Sirius, I know it. What I don't know is why you're here quoting it three hours before sunrise.'

He popped open the bottle, the cork whizzing across the room. Then he took a swig before passing her the bottle. 'You want to know why?' he asked.

She raised her eyebrows in challenge.

'Yours truly now i _s_ a godfather.'

'The Potters?' she asked.

He nodded, grinning from ear to ear. 'A boy. Lily's well, James is thrilled, and Remus already fell asleep. I think I'll be celebrating for at least another week.'

She leapt up and embraced him. 'Congratulations!''

In that moment, with his arms wrapped around a beautiful woman who he'd known for nearly a decade, a stray thought struck him: What if it had been _his_ child born today? His best mate seemed so peculiarly grown up now, what with a wife and a house and a baby of his own. All three things were so decidedly out of Sirius's grasp, and yet…

Yet.

What if _he_ were coming home right now? What if Rosie were _his_ , and what if _he_ were her man?

His fingers delved into her hair, and she didn't pull away. He nuzzled her temple, and he breathed in the scent of her, all fresh lemons and woodsmoke. For awhile, he let himself imagine a life like this.

And then she took a step back. She patted him on the shoulder like a kid brother, and she took a swig from the bottle herself.

He sighed.

Maybe someday things would be different.

* * *

 _1995_

Life in a cave was not all it was cracked up to be.

Still, it was better than a decade in prison.

Sirius spent more time as Snuffles the dog than in human form, mainly because he found it easier to retain his body temperature in canine form. Winter up north could be brutal, and there was only so much he could do to pack his stone home with dried leaves and downed branches for warmth.

He was weary, but he was not without purpose. Really, the only thing he had left was Harry. Harry, the only piece of his family who was still alive. While the rest of the world had gone mad, Sirius held onto this one thing to keep sane: he must keep Harry safe.

At thirty-four, Sirius felt as though he'd lived more than two lifetimes. If he thought too much about the hand life had dealt him, he might have said that everything he'd ever loved turned to shit. His posh childhood home became a prison, his brother abandoned him for the cause of blood purity, and his best friends—his chosen family—had been murdered in their home. Sirius had arrived in time to hand off baby Harry to Hagrid while he sorted everything out, and then he'd been tossed into Azkaban himself, abandoned by Dumbledore or anybody else with the power to sort out the truth.

He'd never been able to shake the cold from his bones after that. Still, another night without a proper meal might kill him, so he trotted down to Hogsmeade to dig through the bins behind the Hog's Head and the Three Broomsticks. There was a faint dusting of snow on the ground.

The streets were quiet. They usually were, save for the odd student weekend, but in the winter, there were no people outside without a purpose.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a door to the Hog's Head propped open by a small rubbish bin. A golden light glowed inside, but there was no commotion from any people about.

Sirius waited and watched.

Ten minutes went by, so felt it was safe to inch his way closer.

Had anybody seen him then, they would have noticed a sad, scraggly black dog nosing about the village bins for a bite to eat. Nobody would have thought anything of it.

When a patron stumbled out of the Hog's Head, obviously drunk, Snuffles sidled up next to the building, holding himself rigidly still until the coast was clear.

Then he ran around to the back to see if Aberforth had thrown out anything good to eat.

Nothing at all.

His stomach grumbling, he next went to the Three Broomsticks. Knocking over a bin to get a better look inside, he was startled by the back door opening.

It was her.

A decade older and a bit rounder all over, Rosmerta Meriwether was a sight. Her hair was wild and her belt was tight, and she looked upon him with compassion.

'Oh!'

He immediately stood back, acting contrite.

'You poor thing,' she said, crouching down and reaching out a hand in supplication. 'Do you have a collar?'

She tutted and went back inside, holding open the door as she looked at him intently. 'Well, then, come inside. It's too cold for any creature on a night like tonight, and as long as you stay out of sight, you'll be fine.'

Wary from years on the run, but certain that no harm could ever come to him from this woman, Snuffles trotted inside and curled up on the blanket she laid out for him in the back room. Just a few feet from the brick wall of the oven, he felt warmer than he had in months.

It was divine.

He didn't even notice when he fell asleep, but he did notice when he woke up. She was kneeling down beside him, detangling his black fur while she scratched him behind the ears.

When he sat up and looked at her, she eyed him with concern. 'I knew someone that looked like you, once. A long time ago. He was a strange one, though, preferring the company of wolves and deer.'

His heart caught in his chest and leapt to four feet, ready to run. After all, she only knew him as Sirius Black, murderer and escaped convict—not as a man exonerated—and he wasn't supposed to be anywhere near Britain.

Before he had a chance to do anything, she raised her hands, reassuring him that she meant no danger. 'You're a distinctive looking creature, you know that?'

He froze in place.

'I don't know what the hell happened thirteen years ago,' Rosmerta continued, kneeling down in front of him, showing him she wasn't going to do anything rash, 'but I do know that Sirius Black would have died for James Potter, just as he would have died to protect his son.' Her hands fell to her lap, and she relaxed a bit in his presence.

He sat.

'There are wards up all around the building, and there's no one here. Not even in the guestrooms upstairs,' she said. 'Will you please let me see you?'

Well.

Not one to take chances, Snuffles got up, paced through the main room of the pubs, and climbed the stairs, waiting every so often to make sure she was following him. When he arrived at the same room she'd cleaned him up in eighteen years before, he took a deep breath and became a man again.

She muffled a small sob and threw her arms around him. 'It really _is_ you!' Her hands found his ribs, exposed due to malnutrition, and she released him. 'You smell foul, Sirius. Get in the shower, toss out your clothes, and I'll make sure you have something hot to eat.'

'I wouldn't refuse a Firewhisky,' he replied. Then he winked at her, adding, 'I swear, Rosie, I'm of age now.'

When he emerged from the shower twenty minutes later, he felt cleaner than he had in months. Wrapped in an oversized robe, he couldn't be arsed to get dressed. Besides, his clothes were mended, but they sat folded at the foot of his bed.

A feast awaited him on the little table in the corner, with lidded bowls and a teapot with steam curling from the spout. He tucked straight into a savoury beef stew, following it up with some puddings and a side of Firewhisky.

She was a goddess.

While he was noshing on an apple crumble, she burst in through the door. 'Oh!' she cried, turning around. 'I didn't realize you'd be out so soon. I'm sorry to invade your privacy, Sirius, but I'd love to hear any explanation you can give me. I'll come back once you're—'

'Stay.'

She turned around slowly.

'Please stay,' he pleaded, gesturing towards an empty chair.

Rosie sat.

And listened.

She listened while told his tale, letting him unburden himself as much as he could. She'd always been friendly with the Order, but wasn't privy to its secrets. He told her how he'd been set up by Death Eaters, how he and James had thought they'd outsmarted them.

How he'd failed the man he considered his brother.

Since she knew of his alter ego as a large shaggy dog, he told her how he'd held onto sanity during his imprisonment, and he listened as she described the suffocating effect of the Dementors on Hogsmeade during the last year.

Then he turned the conversation to lighter matters. 'If I were sixteen again, I'd probably try another horrible chat-up line on you now, Rosie.'

'Those were awful,' she said, reaching across the table to take his hand. 'You didn't actually think they'd work, did you?'

He barked out a laugh. 'I found that not all women were as discriminating as you were.'

'Discriminating?' she repeated. 'Merlin, Sirius, you were a student and I was, what, twenty-two or twenty-three? I'd just taken over this place and was desperate to prove that I was a sensible businesswoman. You were _trouble_.'

'It sounds like you were soft on me,' he said, running his thumb over her bare knuckles. No ring adorned her finger, which surprised him. He'd always been so captivated by her ease and warmth, and he couldn't imagine men being so stupid as to overlook the beauty sitting across the table from him. 'Did you ever marry, Rosie?'

She shrugged. 'There have been a few men, but nobody ever felt right for forever.'

'Did you know you were the first girl I ever fell for?' he asked. He tugged on her hand, enough to nudge her out of her chair so he could pull her down on his lap. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he could feel the rapid beat of her heart against his chest.

'Now that's a much better line,' she replied. 'Probably much more effective on all the ladies.'

Her tone was a bit defensive as she tried to deflect his words. 'I wouldn't know,' he said. 'I've never told that to anyone else because, by the very nature of something or someone being the first of their kind, they are also the only one of their kind. You were my first, Rosie.'

'Thirteen?' she asked, guessing at the age he was describing.

'Eleven.'

'You were quite advanced for your age,' she said. Then she sat up, pulling away from him. 'I'm afraid I'm quite advanced for my age these days, so you've likely gotten over me.'

'You're so lovely.' With his fingers, he traced the lines in her face. Yes, she had some gentle wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, but they were both older now, and he wouldn't change her for anyone else in the world. 'I've dreamt of you more than half my life,' he confessed, 'and if you don't object, I'm going to kiss you now.'

Her eyes dropped to his lips. 'No objection here.'

And he kissed her.

Twenty-three years after he'd first seen a blonde-haired girl across a dining hall, Sirius Black kissed the witch he wanted. He might have to return to the cave tomorrow, might have to go into battle for the Order next week, but now, he simply kissed the woman he admired.

Her lips were soft, and she was hesitant at first, nipping at his lower lip. He threaded his fingers through her curls, tugging her hair softly. When his tongue found the seam of her mouth, she opened herself up to him fully.

He stood, throwing her over his shoulder.

'I am not a sack of potatoes!' she cried breathlessly, swatting his arse as he walked across the room.

'No,' he agreed, laying her out on the bed. Sirius sat down beside her, running his fingers up her left leg, tracing her calf and tickling her behind the knee. 'No, Rosmerta, you are not.'

She burst out laughing then, a joyous sound that resonated deep in his chest. 'You always made me smile, Sirius. Give me something to smile about now, will you?'

'Are you propositioning me?' he asked. He tugged off her shoes, setting them on the floor, and he reached up to remove her belt.

'I might be,' she said, helping him with her buckle.

Then he leaned down, bracing himself above her, and he kissed her again, his hands working her dress open. 'Well, you're a persistent witch. I suppose I can let you have your wicked way with me.'

Rosmerta pushed his robe off while he tried to help her out of the last of her clothing. It wasn't hurried so much as unpractised, as new lovers always are. Finally, he was holding her, unencumbered and free, and his lips found the soft skin of her neck.

'Can you stay the night?' she asked.

He pulled back and gazed into her eyes before whispering his reply. 'Yes. Yes, of course.'

'Good,' she said. Then a slender eyebrow rose, and she had the audacity to smirk at him. 'Eleven, hmm?'

'I didn't have much in mind other than holding hands, but I tried to chat you up in the library once as a firstie.'

'Oh?' she asked, reaching down to pinch his arse. 'I must've missed that one. You want to try it again?'

He grinned, his eyes sweeping over the curves of her body. 'Rosmerta Meriwether, do you have a map?'

She pretended to think a moment. Then she answered him perfunctorily. 'No, Sirius. I do not have a map.'

'What a shame,' he replied, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead before holding her gaze. 'I could get lost in your eyes.'

* * *

 _A total experiment for me with these characters! Thanks for reading a rare pair._


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